Protecting His Pathologist
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: In the end the only one who truly matters is Molly.
1. Safe and Secure

221B BAKER STREET

Sherlock Holmes sighed with relief as he sank into his chair and took refuge in his Mind Palace, safe in the knowledge that all those close to him were in no immediate danger.

Lestrade, John and Mary, even heavily pregnant as she was, were more than capable of taking care of themselves. As for Mrs Hudson, woe betide anyone foolish enough to mistake her for a harmless old woman. Mycroft of course had all that the British Government could spare at his disposal, so his protection, and for that matter that of their parents was never in any doubt.

That left Molly Hooper.

After taking far longer than it should Sherlock had finally convinced his pathologist that she would be safest staying with him, which was how she came to be installed in John's old bedroom at 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock was abruptly brought out of his Mind Palace by a blood-curdling scream.

He tore out of the room and up the stairs in a flash, wrenching Molly's bedroom door open and rushing inside, to find Molly lying in bed clearly in the midst of a terrifying nightmare.

ST BART'S MORGUE – THREE YEARS BEFORE

The morgue was blissfully quiet, and for that Molly Hooper was thankful, as she could now catch up on some much needed paperwork uninterrupted, secure in the knowledge that while Sherlock was busy with a case in Dartmoor, there was little likelihood that he'd come crashing unexpectedly through the doors demanding that she drop everything she was working on to assist him.

He might text her, but she'd at least have the choice to read and deal with it in her own time.

She was so caught up in what she was doing that she wasn't aware that she was no longer alone until a shadow fell across her desk, and an ominously soft voice with an distinct Irish accent all but purred, "Little Miss Molly all alone… and unprotected."


	2. Keeping Secrets

221B BAKER STREET

Molly was in a daze. One minute she was in the middle of the worst memories imaginable, and the next she was being scooped up into the arms of the man she'd not so secretly loved for years, who quite rightly ignored her feeble protests as he carried her down the stairs and into the kitchen, before turning left to take her to his bedroom.

Once Sherlock had her comfortably settled in his bed he joined her. Pulling her to him, securely wrapping his arms around her tiny frame. With his chin resting lightly against her head, he began. "Tell me."

Molly refused to look him in the eye. "There's nothing to tell," she responded quietly.

Sherlock had learnt from past experience that there would always be small, but telling details that he would fail to pick up on in his deductions, John's sister, Mary Watson, Charles Augustus Magnussen's Mind Palace, not to mention Molly's Christmas present. But he hadn't realised until a few minutes ago just how much Molly had managed to conceal from him.

"Are you absolutely certain of that?" he pressed.

Molly worried her bottom lip with her teeth. She knew that tone.

The game was up.

Either she explained everything, or he would.

"I know you've already made certain deductions," she said. "But before you say anything I need you to promise me something," she begged. "I don't want what I'm about to reveal to go any further."

Sherlock nodded. "Whatever you tell me will remain strictly confidential," he promised her.

Molly took a deep, steadying breath, and then she began.

"Okay, I'm going to say this quickly. While you were away in Dartmoor Moriarty returned. He was very annoyed, apparently he'd been kept imprisoned by Mycroft, was constantly beaten in an attempt to extract information from him about his organization. And then they suddenly released him. And he needed someone to take out his anger and frustration on. So he decided I was the perfect choice. He came to the morgue, kidnapped me, and took me to a secluded hideaway, I don't know where. It was there that he… that he…"

Try as she might Molly couldn't force the words past her lips. But in the end she didn't have to, Sherlock did it for her.

"He raped you."

She nodded.

"I got the impression he intended more, but he was interrupted by one of his minions, who only survived Moriarty's anger because he'd brought him news that they had what they needed to 'get Sherlock'. After that he had me bundled out and dropped off not far from my flat."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he ground out, outraged and appalled at what she had suffered because of Moriarty's obsession with him.

"Really?" she asked.

"Why?" he repeated.

"I was scared to."

Sherlock's pale features were instantly tinged with a wash of grey. "Molly…"

"I didn't know how you'd react," she continued. "It wasn't like we were friends. I was just the woman you could manipulate with a little bit of flattery to get lab results, or body parts."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head firmly.

"I mean you'd kissed me in apology for the terrible things you'd said about me that Christmas, but I still wasn't certain that was enough of a change in our relationship to risk any further scorn that you might dish out to me, if I'd told you what had happened."

Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to get himself under control. He could certainly see her point. But that she would think that he could be so crass and uncaring concerning such a despicable act quite took his breath away.

It cut him to the quick.

"You could have gone to Lestrade."

"I could, but in all likelihood he would have informed you. And I couldn't take the risk"

Sherlock frowned.

"The chances that I would have told you anyway were very slim. After… after what he'd done, Mori… Moriarty warned me not to tell anyone, especially you. He said that if I did he'd come back for me, and… and finish what he'd started. Even if he had to do it from beyond the grave."

Sherlock groaned pulling her in even tighter.

With her face pressed against his racing heart Molly confessed. "I admit that when the broadcast went out, irrational as I knew it was, part of me still worried that he'd found a way to get to me after all. Although technically I hadn't told you about it at that time."

Sherlock took her face gently in his hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I will never allow Moriarty, or whoever is behind the broadcast to hurt you ever again," he promised her.

Molly would have loved nothing better than to stay, gazing into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, but there were still a few other outstanding matters that needed to be discussed. So with the greatest reluctance she pulled away.

Sherlock didn't press her, but waited patiently for her to continue.

"I called Mike and told him I had a family emergency that needing dealing with. Since I hadn't used any of my annual or sick leave for the year it wasn't difficult to get time away arranged. The following morning I went to stay with my mother, and while there I saw a therapist. She helped me…"

Sherlock snorted, not convinced.

"She did Sherlock. She helped me deal with what had happened, though I obviously didn't tell her everything. And eventually I began to feel better, and more confident about myself. By this time you were 'dead' as far as everyone was concerned. And then I met Tom."

Sherlock stiffened. He didn't know if he really wanted to hear this. And then something occurred to him.

"You lied," he stated.

"What?" Molly exclaimed. "When?"

"When you told me that you and Tom were having 'quite a lot of sex'. That was a lie."

Molly smiled smugly. "You've only just realised that fact."

Sherlock pouted which made Molly laugh. She laughed so hard tears streamed down her face.

"After what you'd gone through, I don't care how good the therapist was, there is no way you'd… you'd…"

Molly finally recovered herself enough to answer Sherlock's unfinished question.

"Tom was a godsend," she began.

"He was gay wasn't he?"

"No, just not highly sexed. He was a bit of a mummy's boy and was desperate to get married to prove that he could be his own man."

"And it helped that he looked similar to…"

Molly placed her hand over his mouth, covering the all-knowing smirk. "I think that little fact was evident to everyone, including Tom," she readily agreed.

"So why did you say it?" he asked.

"Just for once Sherlock I wanted to get a reaction from you. I'd been in love with you for years."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't deny it Sherlock, you knew as well as everyone else. I wore my heart on my sleeve. And just for once I wanted to get some sort of reaction from you, now that I'd found the one."

"Which you hadn't," he interrupted.

"Which I hadn't," she agreed. "But at the time you didn't know that. My comment about our supposed sex life made you uncomfortable. That was enough for me. I thought then maybe I'd finally managed to move on from you at last…"

Molly's bravado was suddenly replaced with uncertainty. She again wouldn't meet his eye, and her hands fluttered nervously on her lap.

Sherlock couldn't stand to see her in such distress, especially knowing what she'd gone through, what she'd been forced to endure, with the threat of worse to come if she ever spoke a word.

"I am sorry Molly Hooper for so many things," he whispered, reaching out to lift her chin so he could look deeply into her eyes. "I'm sorry for all that you have suffered because of me, whether directly or indirectly. You have always been there for me, you've always counted and I've always trusted you. But the one time you really needed me I wasn't there for you. For that I can never apologise enough."

"Sherlock, I don't blame you. I could never blame you."

Sherlock looked at the petite woman in wonder. How was it possible that she could be so generous?

The answer of course was obvious, because she was Molly Hooper, and she loved him still.

Before his head could overrule his heart, Sherlock acted instinctively, reaching out to enclose her in his arms as he leant down to place a firm but gentle kiss upon her lips.


	3. Feelings Revealed

221B BAKER STREET

The kiss started out tentatively, but as soon as Sherlock's tongue slipped between her parted lips things soon heated up. Sherlock lowered Molly to the bed, rolling on top of her, his hips comfortably resting between her thighs. Meanwhile Molly slipped her hands over his shoulders, up his neck and into his curls, her fingers clutching at the luxurious strands.

Eventually they both had to come up for air.

"Sherlock?"

There were so many questions in that one word.

Sherlock pulled back slightly, a worried frown on his face. "Not good?"

Molly took her time observing the detective closely. She saw hope, uncertainty and fear in his eyes. Seeing these emotions so clearly etched on his features, took her breath away,

He was revealing a part of himself to her that was for her alone.

It was only fair that she return this precious gift in kind.

She reached out and pulled Sherlock close. "Everything's good," she reassured him. "Better than good."

Sherlock hesitated a moment. His sexual encounters had been few and far between, and usually of the 'Wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am!' variety, that had been fuelled by drug-induced euphoria. What he felt for Molly was a completely new experience for him. He had an overpowering need to be with her, not just on a sexual level, but an emotional one as well. He was determined that for Molly he would show restraint, and focus on the intimacy of the act. He needed to ensure that she felt safe with him, given what she'd been through.

"Sherlock?"

The same word, but this time the question had changed.

Sherlock got up from the bed and began slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, watching Molly closely, prepared to stop if she wasn't ready to take this next step. What he saw had him swiftly removing his clothes, before helping her with hers.

When he climbed back on the bed, he sat, with his back resting against the headboard. Before Molly could question him, Sherlock turned, easily lifting her and placing her so that she straddled his hips.

Taking her face gently in his hands he softly pressed his lips to hers, pulling back before she could deepen the kiss, smirking when she pouted prettily.

"Did you know that screech owls have a very touching mating ritual?" he asked.

Molly raised an enquiring eyebrow, but willingly played along, letting him set the pace. "They do?"

Sherlock nodded, his expression serious as he explained. "Yes. The male will stroke her with his beak… on her nape… her shoulders, and her breast plumage." As he spoke his actions mimicked his words. He paused, looking deeply into her eyes as his fingers brushing lightly down her sides and over her hips and thighs. "She can fly away anytime she chooses…"

"And if she wants to stay? If she wants their love play to continue?" Molly asked breathlessly.

"Then she makes the male very, very happy." Sherlock replied as his hands moved back to her waist as he lifted his hips to press his erect cock against her.

"Is there anything else I should know about screech owls?" Molly asked playfully.

"They mate for life."

By now both were breathing heavily. Molly knew why Sherlock had placed her on top and told her about the screech owls. He was letting her know that she was free to set the pace of their lovemaking, and that he cared deeply for her..

She leant forward and began placing increasingly passionate kisses over his cheeks, lips, neck, shoulders and chest.

Sherlock gasped as she took one nipple into her mouth, her tongue rubbed the sensitive nub before she began sucking rhythmically upon it, before repeating the process on the other.

Then Molly's hand moved down to grasp his erect member in a firm hold, stroking up and down his length a couple of times before guiding him into her welcoming warmth.

They both moaned at the exquisite sensation as she sank down on his full length.

She stayed motionless a moment savouring the feeling of him filling her, then with her forehead resting against his and their gazes locked on each other she began to move slowly and steadily up and down. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, while Sherlock's hands moved to her hips to assist her movements as they steadily increased.

Their breathing and heartbeats increased, and their movements became increasingly frantic. Sherlock could tell Molly was close, so he moved one hand to start rubbing her sensitive clit, helping her reach her climax, which she did soon after, calling his name as she came. And that was enough to send him over the edge.

Afterwards he rolled them over so that they now lay side by side, their breathing gradually steadied and they feel asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, utterly content.

Sherlock was roused from his sleep by the ringing of his mobile. Stumbling out of bed he found where he'd thrown his jacket and retrieved the ringing phone. Checking the caller ID her saw it was from Mycroft.

He listened to what his brother had to say, before clarifying a couple of issues, then ended the conversation as quickly as possible.

"Is everything okay?" Molly asked as he climbed back into bed.

He leaned down and kissed her soundly. "They have a number of suspects in custody and are of the opinion that they have everything under control."

"So," Molly asked apprehensively. "What happens now? With us I mean."

Sherlock knew what had her worried. She feared that he would regret revealing his feelings now that the situation with the faux-Moriarty seemed to be sorted. And he had to admit it had taken the situation for him to acknowledge and act upon his feelings, he didn't regret doing so. Enough time had been wasted, he had Molly now and he wasn't going to let her go ever again.

With this resolve in mind, Sherlock took her in his arms. "We carry on where we left off," he informed her.

THREE MONTHS LATER…

When the minister finally announced. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride." Sherlock let out an audible sigh of relief before taking Molly in his arms and snogging her senseless in front of their family, friends, and… others.

He'd wanted to marry her three days after he'd finally admitted his feeling for his pathologist. But Mary, Mrs Hudson and Mummy had vetoed that idea, pointing out that Molly, having had to wait so long for his declaration of love, deserved time to plan her dream wedding.

Against three formidable women, he knew when he'd met his match, and so he'd meekly, though unhappily agreed, knowing it was an argument he would never win. Though he'd never admit it.

He was only thankful that the wedding hadn't taken place any later. If it had, Molly would have had to have her wedding dress altered to accommodate the growing presence of their unborn child.

And that was a little secret both he and Molly wanted to keep to themselves until they returned from their honeymoon / sex holiday.


End file.
